


Dark Side of the Moon

by DancesWithCybermen



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst, Case Fic, F/M, Post-Movie: The X-Files: I Want To Believe (2008), Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:28:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27673378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancesWithCybermen/pseuds/DancesWithCybermen
Summary: Set five years after the events of IWTB, this story replaces S10. Mulder and Scully are married but separated. Scully contacts Mulder at the request of Walter Skinner, who wants them to investigate a series of disappearances where people mysteriously vanish after car accidents, only to end up reappearing and claiming that they’d been thrown back into the past.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 14
Kudos: 66
Collections: X-Files Case File Fanfic Exchange (2020)





	1. Monomyth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MonikaFileFan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonikaFileFan/gifts).



> For Monika, who requested, “Mulder and Scully investigate why multiple people have seemingly vanished into thin air, only to return stating they’d been sucked into another time and changed their lives. Up to you whether what the duo uncover as they experience it for themselves can possibly affect their own past/future together. Established relationship or on the brink. UST/ RST. Prefer anything in s6-11 for this just not post series. Bonus for partner in peril and smut but not a necessity.”
> 
> I always thought that Life on Mars would have made a great X-File. This story will go much further, with our heroes investigating not just one case but a rash of cases similar to Sam Tyler’s, though, for the sake of following Monika's prompt, not exactly like it. The story references the Sam Tyler case, but it’s not an XF/LoM crossover per se. Previous knowledge of Life on Mars isn’t necessary to understand the story.
> 
> Thanks to Jeri for her kindness in being my beta.

_My name is Fox Mulder. My wife and I got into a car accident, and we woke up in 1974. I’m not sure if we’ve gone back in time, gotten stranded in an alternate universe, or both. Whatever happened, I think we were sent here for a reason. We need to figure out what that is so that we can find our way back to 2010._

_My name is Dana Scully. My husband and I were in a car accident, and something happened to us. Mulder thinks we’re in an alternate universe or got sent back in time. I’m not sure what to think anymore, but one thing is certain. Whatever’s happening to us, the longer we’re here, the more likely it is that we’ll both lose our grip on reality forever._

####  **Office of Walter Skinner, FBI Headquarters, August 2013**

Dana Scully sat in front of her former supervisor’s desk, subconsciously fiddling with her wedding ring. She couldn’t bear to take it off, despite having been separated from Mulder for several months. They’d not spoken of divorce. She hadn’t even said the word when she left. “We need some separation between us,” she’d said. “I’m so lost in your life that I don’t have my own anymore.”

He’d called bullshit on that, and he wasn’t entirely wrong. What did that mean, really? She didn’t know. It was just something she’d said, something other than, “Maybe we should think about a divorce.”

She couldn’t even think of the word without a sense of shame flowing through her. She’d joined an online divorce support group, and there’d been a discussion about it recently, the sense of shame that people felt over a collapsing marriage, even if the collapse wasn’t their fault, even if it wasn’t anyone’s fault. She recalled one man who’d finally filed the papers 10 years after his wife had walked out on him and his daughter. It had taken a decade of his wife being MIA for him to accept that she wasn’t coming back.

Scully hadn’t accepted that she wasn’t coming back. Mulder had been in her life for so long that she couldn’t envision a life without him. She’d rented a small apartment close to the hospital.She’d furnished it as sparsely as Padgett had furnished his. There was nothing on the walls, not even any photographs. It was stark and sterile, like her life without Mulder.

Skinner cleared his throat, breaking Scully out of her thoughts. She checked her watch. They’d been waiting for 15 minutes. “He’ll be here,” she assured Skinner.

Skinner looked at her skeptically. “How can you be so sure of that?”

“Because he told me he’d come.”

“Very well.” Skinner pretended to take another look at the files scattered on his desk. She was probably right. After all, Mulder hadn’t returned any of Skinner’s emails or phone calls, but he’d apparently picked up as soon as Scully called, and somehow, she’d gotten him to agree to this meeting. The fact that she still had her wedding ring on hadn’t escaped his notice. He recalled, years ago, thinking that it would never be truly over between Mulder and Scully until one of them was dead. Then, Mulder did die, and it still wasn’t over. 

The man had literally been dead and buried, but he’d found a way to make it back to his Scully. Yeah, he’d come to this meeting.

Moments later, his office door opened, and Arlene poked her head in. “Fox Mulder is here to see you, Sir.”

“Good. Send him in.”

Scully wasn’t sure what to expect when she turned around to watch her husband enter the room. She hadn’t seen him in six months. In stark contrast to the smart business attire she’d chosen to wear to this meeting, Mulder was dressed more like someone meeting a friend for coffee, in jeans, a tee-shirt, and a leather jacket, his sunglasses still on indoors. He hadn’t regrown his beard, but he clearly hadn’t shaven in a couple of days, and his hair was messy and collar-length. She liked him better with long hair; she felt it framed his face better, made it less boxy. She remembered when they were on the run, and he’d grown his hair down past his shoulders.

She felt a lump in her throat and quickly composed herself. “Mulder.”

He took off his sunglasses and nodded at her. “Scully.” He quickly looked away from her and extended his hand across Skinner’s desk, which broke her heart. “Sorry I’m late. I hit a pileup on the highway.”

“That’s fine, Mulder. Have a seat.” He sat down but still kept his attention on Skinner. “So how have you been? We haven’t caught up in a while.”

Mulder shrugged, putting his sunglasses in their case and tucking them in his jacket pocket. “Oh, I’ve been taking care of myself. Running down theories, losing myself in my work.”

Scully suppressed a groan. Mulder’s “work” generally amounted to pouring over conspiracy theories on obscure message boards. Even before December 2012 came and went, he’d come to suspect that the chances of an invasion happening were somewhere between slim, none, and nothing. The whole colonization conspiracy wasn’t a conspiracy at all. It was just another smokescreen, another lie. She’d thought that knowledge would free her husband, but instead, it had made him descend even further into depression. He’d lost his sense of purpose.

He was looking at her now. She had to say something. “It’s good for you to get out of that little house every once in a while.”

Mulder grimaced, looking her up and down. She was stunningly beautiful, as always, and he was sitting here looking like a bum. “It certainly was good for you.”

Skinner shifted uncomfortably. Scully extended her hand to Mulder, hoping to head off an _incident_. “Well, I’m always happy to see you.”

He paused for a moment before accepting her hand and shaking it warmly. “And I'm always happy to find a reason.” He held on for just a moment too long before releasing her and turning back to Skinner. “So, what’s going on that’s elevated me from being the FBI’s most unwanted to having my presence specifically requested, twice?”

Skinner turned his computer screen towards them. A page titled “Truth & Consequences” was loaded in his browser. “Are you familiar with a conspiracy theorist named Tad O’Malley who hosts an internet podcast?”

Scully shook her head. Mulder shrugged. “It sounds vaguely familiar.”

Skinner clicked on an audio file, and a man’s voice boomed through the speakers. “It comes down to this. The mainstream liberal media is lying to all of us about life, liberty, and our God-given right to bear arms! 9/11 was a false flag operation. It was a warm-up to what’s really going on behind the scenes--”

Skinner paused the audio, and Mulder rolled his eyes. “Oh, that jackass. Now I remember. He claims to have it on good authority that colonization is still happening, but not the way Cancer Man said it would happen. He says it’s going to happen in 2020, and it won’t be like _Independence Day_ . It’ll be more like _The Monsters Are Due on Maple Street_. The aliens are going to work behind the scenes and turn humans against each other. They won’t have to kill anyone. They’ll just wait for all of us to kill each other, and they’ll colonize what’s left.”

Scully chuckled. “The way things are going, that sounds plausible.”

Mulder gave her a surprised look. Talk about role-reversal. He turned back to Skinner. “Don’t tell me you called us down here about that guy. He doesn’t have any ‘inside information.’ He’s just trying to sell overpriced ‘survival kits.’”

Skinner shook his head. “It’s not O’Malley that’s the problem. It’s one of the guests he had on his show last week.” Skinner clicked on another audio file, and O’Malley’s voice came through the speakers again.

“...there have been at least eight victims over the past 18 months. They aren’t crackpots, just normal people like you and me who got into accidents and woke up to find themselves plunged back decades into the past.”

Mulder stopped rolling his eyes and leaned forward, suddenly interested in what O’Malley had to say.

“Meanwhile, as far as their friends and families here knew, they’d vanished into thin air, only to reappear weeks, sometimes months later, all telling the same story, that they’d spent that time living in the past, working jobs, making friends, and even falling in love, before they were suddenly yanked back into the present, a present that some of them weren’t eager to return to.

Who has been taking these people? What do they want with them? What’s it like to find yourself suddenly living in another time? On Truth and Consequences today, one of the victims breaks her silence to tell all of you what the MSM doesn’t want you to know. Everyone, welcome Dina Rhodes to our program--”

Skinner paused the audio file and handed Mulder a folder, and Scully scooted her chair closer so they could both look at it. “This is why you were called in. Or rather, this is why I was able to get you called in. Meet victim number 8, Dina Rhodes, 34, daughter of Daniel Rhodes, CEO of Ambler Pharmaceuticals.” 

Both Mulder and Scully nodded. Everyone who lived and worked in the Beltway was familiar with Rhodes, who headed up a pharma industry Super PAC.

“Dina disappeared after she ran her car into a tree near Philadelphia two months ago,” Skinner explained. “Her boyfriend’s body was recovered from the wreckage, as was Dina’s purse and cell phone, but there was no sign of Dina. The boyfriend’s blood alcohol content was twice the legal limit, and witnesses say both of them had been drinking heavily at a party earlier that night. At first, police speculated that she fled the scene to escape DUI charges, but a search of the nearby area turned up nothing.”

The former agents looked at the accident scene photos in the file. This had been a very bad wreck. Scully couldn’t imagine anyone managing to get out of the car and walking away, let alone fleeing the scene. The woman would have been lucky to escape with her life.

Skinner continued. “She was found three weeks ago, not far from the scene of the accident, after flagging down a passing motorist. She showed no signs of external injury, but she was clearly disoriented. She told paramedics and hospital personnel that she’d just spent not just the previous five weeks but the better part of a year in 1964. Police charged her with vehicular manslaughter and fleeing the scene of an accident. If her father wasn’t Daniel Rhodes, Dina probably wouldn’t have seen the light of day again until her trial, but she was released on bail. Then, she pulled this stunt.”

He turned his screen back around. “I don’t know whether O’Malley found the Rhodes woman, or she found him, but she started a veritable shitstorm with her appearance on his podcast. Now, the other victims, at least the ones who are still alive, have come out of the woodwork and are hitting the talk show circuit.”

“What do you mean, the ones who are still alive?” Scully asked. “Did some of these people die from their injuries?”

Skinner shook his head. “No, two of them killed themselves because they decided they preferred living in the past, and they thought that if they took their own lives, they’d end up going back. In any event, Rhodes wants answers as to what happened to his daughter, and he wants them now. Her attorney is apparently going to argue that she was forced off the road, kidnapped, and drugged.”

"And you’re under pressure to provide those answers,” Mulder said.

“Yep.” Skinner reached into a desk drawer, pulled out two badges, and slid them towards his ex-agents. “This isn’t a new case. I’ve had agents investigating these disappearances for months. They’ve come up with nothing, and frankly, it was on the back burner until the debacle with the Rhodes woman. I don’t have anywhere else to turn. I can have both of you temporarily reinstated immediately. You can even work out of your old office. After the X-Files was shut down, nobody else had any interest in working out of the basement.”

Mulder looked over at his estranged wife. Six months with no contact, and she suddenly called him, not to attempt to reconcile but to pull him into a meeting about reopening the X-Files, the very reason she claimed to have left in the first place. He turned to look at Skinner again. “I think I can provide some assistance here. As you may recall, I had a similar experience when I was working on the X-Files, in the Bermuda Triangle. I never did find out exactly what happened to me, but maybe there’s something I overlooked the first time, something that could help me figure out what’s going on here.”

Scully tensed. She remembered Bermuda. It was the first time Mulder had told her that he loved her, using those exact words. She’d blown him off, claiming that his spontaneous declaration was the result of his trauma and the drugs the hospital had given him, but the truth was that it was a conversation she hadn’t been ready to have with him.

“But,” Mulder continued, “I can’t do this alone. I don't work well alone.” He turned to Scully again. “And I’m not sure if my partner is willing to chase monsters in the dark again.”

Scully glanced at the file again. While she loved working at the hospital and making a difference in her patients’ lives, the truth was that she wasn’t cut out for a “normal” lifestyle. Not anymore. Not for a long time. Not since the day she’d walked into their basement office years before, and Mulder had pulled her into his mad, exciting, mysterious world. She also wasn’t cut out for a life without her mad, exciting, mysterious husband in it. The last six months had been miserable. She wanted to make her marriage work. 

She looked back up at Mulder and saw a light in his eyes that had been missing for a very long time. He was spending too much time alone in that house, scouring those ridiculous message forums. He needed to get back to himself. She needed to get back to herself. “There are no monsters here, Mulder, but it does appear that someone is kidnapping these people, and they’re doing something to them to make them think they went back into the past. Maybe it’s some sort of mind-control experiment? Psychotropic drugs?”

Mulder smiled at her, a hopeful look in his eyes. “So does that mean you’re in?”

She nodded. “I’m willing to accept a temporary reinstatement so that we can work on this case and figure out what happened to Dina Rhodes and these other victims. I don’t have any surgeries scheduled, so I can tell the hospital that I need to take a leave of absence to tend to a personal matter.”

Mulder suppressed the urge to jump up out of his chair and pump his fist in the air. He was surprised that she’d agreed to work with him again on an X-File, but he wasn’t about to question it. Perhaps she was intrigued with the notion that these people had allegedly gone back in time and gotten opportunities to start over, at least temporarily. Mulder had certainly wished, on more than one occasion, that he could go back and fix all of the things that had gone wrong in their relationship. “Then let’s turn the light back on in the basement and get to work.”

#### Former X-Files Office, 2 Days Later

Scully exited the elevator at the basement level and made her way down a hallway she’d traversed thousands of times, but none in the past decade. She carried two cups of coffee. From the musty smell and the boxes haphazardly piled up against the walls, it was clear the place hadn’t seen much foot traffic since Doggett and Reyes had shipped out.

John and Monica. Five years before, they’d retired from the Bureau, married, and moved out West. They were living the lifestyle Scully thought that she and Mulder could have in their unassuming little farmhouse.

Had she done the right thing, leaving him in the throes of his depression? Had she given up on him, the way she’d given up on their son? Scully shook her head to reorient herself to the present. She couldn’t go there, couldn’t keep going there. She had to focus on this case, on lending her expertise to help these victims, not pine over her own mistakes.

The office door was ajar, and she knocked lightly before pushing it all the way open. Mulder was busy placing his I Want to Believe poster back up on the wall. It was the only thing on the wall. Save for two hastily placed workstations and a few file boxes, the office was empty, making it look much bigger than she remembered it. 

Hearing her approach, Mulder turned to face her, and she had to catch her breath. He looked stunning, face shaved, his hair neatly cut, and dressed in a suit. Most importantly, he looked excited to be there, to have a task to accomplish. His laptop was open on his desk, and files were scattered all over it. He’d been researching. “Seems there have been a lot of cases over the past few years where we could have been put to use.”

Scully handed Mulder his coffee. He smiled and nodded his thanks. “But none of those cases involved a major political donor’s daughter,” she said. “Looks like you’ve been busy. What did you find?”

“The victims in this case, Scully. They weren’t the first. This has happened before, and not just to me.” He turned his laptop around so she could see it and pointed to a photo of a man in his 30s, with thinning hair but still handsome in an unconventional way. “This man is Sam Tyler, a detective with the Greater Manchester Police. In 2003, he was hit by a car and severely injured. He spent weeks in a coma. When he finally woke up, he said he’d spent that entire time living in 1973. A police psychologist spent hours interviewing him, and he provided an extremely detailed account of his life in 1973 and the people he interacted with. Quite a cast of characters.” 

“What ended up happening to him?”

“He jumped off the roof of the Greater Manchester Police building. The psychologist who interviewed him theorized that he wanted to go back to 1973.” 

"This is why the internet isn't good for you, Mulder."

Mulder handed her a folder. “You know, I thought what happened to me in Bermuda had something to do with the Bermuda Triangle, but I did some more digging and found similar scattered accounts worldwide, including Czechoslovakia, Spain, and Russia.”

Scully scanned the file. “Certainly, these cases are similar to the experience you related after the Gunmen and I pulled you out of the water in Bermuda, but you didn’t disappear after your accident. Neither did Sam Tyler and these other people. All of you were taken to the hospital and treated for your injuries.”

“I wondered about that too, but what if these cases were experiments? What if someone, or something, worked out the kinks in their process on these people, but now they’ve perfected it?”

“But if they’ve perfected it, why are the victims being returned to their own time?” 

Mulder shrugged. “Maybe these people are the rejects? People vanish without a trace all the time, and a lot of them are never found. We wouldn’t see the ones who didn’t return.”

“Mulder, I do think that the people in our case are being kidnapped and held someplace, but that doesn’t mean they’re being transported back in time. They could be suffering from the effects of psychotropic drugs that their kidnappers gave them to keep them compliant.”

“Okay, but what about me, and Sam Tyler, and the other people in that file?”

“All of you were taken to hospitals, and Tyler spent weeks in intensive care. Are you familiar with something called ICU delirium? Patients who are in intensive care are the sickest of the sick. The illnesses and injuries that landed them in the ICU in the first place can affect cognition, and then, they’re in a frightening environment, under heavy sedation, frequently hooked up to a ventilator, and possibly placed in physical restraints to keep them from tearing their tubes out. Their brains can’t fully process what’s happening, and they have extremely vivid, often frightening dreams.”

“But I wasn’t in the ICU, or on a ventilator, or on psychotropic medications. They didn’t even give me aspirin.”

“You were suffering from hypothermia, which can cause hallucinations.”

“The same hallucinations, experienced by different people, none of whom ever met each other, at different times, in different places? How do you explain that?”

“They can be explained by the same ‘monomyth’ theory that many scientists think is at the root of so-called near death experiences. Every form of storytelling, in every culture, from ancient texts to modern fiction, makes heavy use of the ‘hero’s quest’ monomyth structure. A protagonist is shaken out of their normal way of life by some disturbance and embarks on a journey to an unfamiliar realm, where they face tests, battle enemies, form alliances, and withstand a climactic ordeal. After teetering on the brink of failure or death, the hero emerges victorious and returns to where they began, in some way transformed by their experience.”

Scully sat back in her chair. “There is no time travel here. You didn’t travel through time, Sam Tyler didn’t travel through time, and our victims in this case didn’t travel through time. Their experiences were nothing more than their brains trying to make sense of confusing experiences by transforming them into a coherent narrative. The hero’s quest monomyth is a common, universal narrative. The human brain has a natural tendency to use it as a template for reordering any unusual experience.”

Mulder grinned. This felt like old times. “So, Agent Scully, it’s your theory that we should be focusing on kidnapping and possible medical experimentation, not time travel?”

“Yes, I do. We can’t waste time on these monomyth hallucinations. We need to find out who’s taking these people so that we can stop them from doing it again. Since Dina Rhodes was the most recent victim, we should start by interviewing her.”

“Already ahead of you, Scully.” Mulder reached into his pocket and pulled out his car keys. “We’re headed for the very plausible city of Ardmore, Pennsylvania.”

#### Residence of Dina Rhodes, Ardmore, Pennsylvania

Dina Rhodes opened her curtains far enough to peer outside her living room window at the mass of reporters camped on her lawn. “I think my dad is pissed that I’m more famous than he is now.” She smirked and drew her curtains back to block the view. “He lost his shit when he found out I went on Truth and Consequences.”

Despite her family’s money and influence, Dina had clearly lived a hard life, Scully noted. Years of heavy drinking and hard partying with various substances were beginning to take their toll on her appearance. She was in her mid thirties, looked about 10 years older, and behaved as if she were 10 years younger.

Dina’s mobile phone rang. She looked at it, shook her head, and rejected the call. “They just keep calling,” she said, sitting down across from Mulder and Scully. She gestured at her ankle monitor. “All these talk shows want to fly me to different places, but I’ve got this bastard thing on. I was sober that night, you know. Mondo was the one who did all the drinking. I just had soda.” Pain washed over her face, and she closed her eyes, biting back tears. “I swerved to avoid hitting a deer. It’s Pennsylvania. Deers run out in front of cars all the time.”

“I’m very sorry about your boyfriend. I imagine it was very painful, returning and finding out that he was gone,” Scully said gently. “We’d like to figure out who took you, but we need your help. Do you remember anything about your captors? Anything at all?”

Dina rolled her eyes. “For the last time, nobody took me. It was just like I said on Ted’s show. A deer ran out onto the road. I swerved so I wouldn’t hit it. I don’t remember crashing. I must have blacked out. I woke up in a hospital, but it was 1964.” Scully raised an eyebrow. Mulder leaned forward with keen interest. Dina pointed at him. “Your partner believes me. I read about you on the internet. You investigate UFO’s. It wasn’t a UFO, either. I wasn’t on a spaceship. I was still here, in Ardmore, but it was 1964.”

“We’re both just trying to figure out what happened to you, Ms. Rhodes,” Mulder assured her. “Why don’t we talk about what happened to you in 1964? Did you recognize any of the people you encountered?”

“No, but they all recognized me.” Dina took a sip of wine from a glass she had on her coffee table. “It was fucking weird. It was like, I had a life there, or some version of me had a life there, and I just kind of stepped right back into it. I had a place to live, I had friends, I had an art studio, I was happy. I was so much happier than I am here.” She smiled, remembering. It was the first real smile she’d cracked since the agents had arrived.

Mulder looked around Dina’s living room; the walls were covered with artwork. “Did you paint these?”

Dina nodded. “Some of them, yeah. I always wanted to be an artist, but my Dad said it was stupid, and I should go into something solid, like pharmaceuticals. I know the things that the tabloids say about me, that I’m a spoiled brat with mental problems, but you don’t know what it was like growing up in that house. My brother and sister followed Dad into the business, but I was the black sheep. He gives me money, but only because Mom makes him.”

“All right. While you were living in 1964, did you feel any sensations, hear noises, or see things that seemed out of place?” Scully asked.

“I was transported back to 1964 and living a different life. Everything was out of place.”

“I think what Agent Scully is getting at is, did you experience anything that seemed out of place in your 1964 life?” Mulder asked.

“Yeah, sometimes, I would hear these weird -- almost like messages -- from the TV or the radio, but they didn’t make any sense. Like I said, none of it made any sense.”

Scully referenced her file. “And you ended up back in 2013 after another accident?” 

“I went back to the original accident scene from 2013, or I tried to. A lot of the roads were different then, so I wasn’t sure. I don’t remember what happened. I blacked out while I was trying to find the place.” Dina took another drink. “God, that was fucking stupid. I was just trying to figure out what happened to me. I was so happy there. I should have just left well enough alone. If I’d just stayed away from that fucking road, I’d probably still be in 1964.”

Scully nodded and made some notes in the file. Mulder stood up. “We’re going to go examine the accident scene ourselves, Ms. Rhodes.”

“I don’t think there’s anything there anymore. Lots of people have been there. Nobody else disappeared. I guess whatever -- portal? -- I went through closed up. Like I said, I should have left well enough alone.”

#### Later

As Dina had indicated, and Scully had suspected, the accident scene turned out to be a bust. Mulder was disappointed. He’d expected to discover, well, something out of place, but all they’d found was a rural road outside the city.

Night was falling by the time they got back into Mulder’s car. “We should find a motel so that we can chase down some more leads tomorrow,” he said as he turned the keys in the ignition.

“Mulder, Dina Rhodes is a very troubled woman. I don’t know what happened to her while she was being held captive, but clearly, her mind strung together that narrative about living in 1964.”

“But it wasn’t a hero’s quest monomyth. The only obstacle she had to overcome was adjusting to being uprooted, and it sounds like she overcame it pretty quickly. She said she was very happy there.” He pulled out onto the road.

“It was still all in her head. Her brain created a narrative depicting the life she wishes she’d had. The messages she said she heard from the TV and radio? I read the Sam Tyler files. He talked about similar messages. They were the medical personnel tending to him in the ICU. I think she was hearing her captors talking to each other. We need to get her to tell us more about those messages. It might give us some clues about the people who took her. Right now, we have nothing.”

“We have nothing because she wasn’t kidnapped. She went back in time, and from what she said, she might have even entered some sort of alternate reality, maybe a reality with a timeline that’s behind ours.” Scully gaped at him. “I don’t know how it happened, and I don’t know why, but that woman wasn’t held captive, and she wasn’t dreaming. This really happened to her, like it happened to me. We need to interview the other victims, too. One of them lives about an hour from here, over in New Jersey. We can go see him tomorrow.”

Scully sighed. “Mulder, you’re on fire with this. I’ve seen you do this before. You want to believe this woman so badly that you’re seeing things that just aren’t there.”

“I thought you were with me on this one, Scully.”

“I am with you, and I don’t have any problem with interviewing that other victim, but we need to find out what actually happened to these people, not indulge their fantasies about time travel. Or yours.”

Mulder huffed. “Well, that’s just rich. You know, when you called me, I thought you actually wanted to talk to me. I thought you actually wanted to work things out, but then, you asked me to take a meeting with you and Skinner. What the hell, Dana?”

“Don’t Dana me, Mulder. I do want to work things out, but you need a sense of purpose. You need something to do that doesn’t involve spending all of your time on internet conspiracy boards.”

“Who the hell are you to decide that for me?” he growled. “You’re the one who left me alone in the house so you could go work 90 hours a week at a hospital. What did you expect me to do?”

“What did you expect _me_ to do, Mulder? You know how important my career is to me. I needed to work.”

“Which career? Medicine or the FBI? What’s your end game here?”

“MULDER! LOOK OUT!”

Scully noticed the deer jumping out onto the road a fraction of a second before Mulder did, and it was a fraction of a second too late. He tried swerving to avoid the animal, but it was too late. As the car hit the enormous animal head-on, he heard metal crunching, glass breaking, and Scully screaming. 

Then, blackness and silence for both a moment and an eternity.

*****

“Doctor, I think he’s waking up.” It was a female voice. Mulder was sore all over. He must have had quite a night. Quite a night where? What happened? Where was he?

A man’s voice. “Agent Mulder, can you hear me?”

Mulder groaned and slowly opened his eyes. A doctor was hovering above him. “Scully?”

The doctor shined a light in his eyes, examining each one. “You and your wife were in a car accident. You took the worst of it, but you’ll both be fine. You’re just a little banged up. You’re very lucky.” He shut off his penlight. “Think you can sit up for me?”

Mulder slowly sat upright, and his vision came back into focus. He was clearly in a hospital emergency room, but this one was strange. The equipment appeared primitive, and the doctor and nurse were wearing what looked like throwback uniforms.

“How many fingers am I holding up, Mr. Mulder?”

“Uh, three.”

“Good. Now follow my finger with your eyes.”

Mulder didn’t want to follow the finger. He wanted to look around more, but he did what he was told so that they’d see he was okay and release him. “Where’s Agent Scully?”

The doctor frowned. “Who?”

“Agent -- my wife. Where’s my wife?”

“Nurse, can you go get Mrs. Mulder?” The nurse nodded and disappeared behind the curtain. The doctor turned back to Mulder. “How are you feeling, Mr. Mulder? Any headache?”

“No, I just -- I’m just sore and worried about my wife, that’s all.” He didn’t know why this doctor and nurse were calling Scully “Mrs. Mulder.” Whether she’d keep her surname after they married had never been up for debate. Maybe this place was run by right-wingers. He wanted to get her and get out of this weird hospital.

When the nurse reappeared with Scully in tow, Mulder nearly lost consciousness again. She wasn’t dressed in the smart tailored suit she’d been wearing earlier. She had on a dress that looked like it had gone out of style decades before. She was putting on a brave face and smiling at him, but Mulder could tell she was frightened. “Here you go, Mr. Mulder,” the nurse said. “See? Your wife is fine.”

The doctor patted Mulder on the shoulder. “We’ll leave you alone for a few minutes. I’d like to keep you here another hour or so for observation, but I don’t see any reason why you can’t go home tonight.” The doctor and nurse disappeared behind the curtain, and Mulder and Scully were alone.

“Scully? Where did you get those clothes?”

“Mulder, I … this is what I had on when I woke up.”

“What the hell is going on?”

“Mulder, you need to see something.” Scully opened the front privacy curtain so that they could see the nurses’ station. A black-and-white television was on, and a few doctors and nurses were glued to it.

Richard Nixon was on the screen. “...Therefore, I shall resign the Presidency effective at noon tomorrow. Vice President Ford will be sworn in as President at that hour in this office…”

Scully shut the curtain again, and she and Mulder stared at each other for a long moment.


	2. Arrival

_All that is now  
All that is gone  
All that's to come  
and everything under  
the sun is in tune  
but the sun  
is eclipsed by the moon.  
_ ~~ Pink Floyd, “Eclipse”

  
_Sacred Heart Hospital, Philadelphia, PA, August 8, 1974_

For the first time since he woke up, Mulder looked at what he was wearing. His 2013 suit had been replaced by a wide-collared shirt and a pair of corduroy pants. On the chair next to his bed was a see-through bag containing a matching jacket, shoes, and the rest of his personal effects. He grinned. “This is incredible!”

Scully was horrified. “What do you mean, incredible? Mulder, what happened to us? Where are we?” she hissed.

“More like, when are we?” He turned around and sat up to get out of bed, looking around him in amazement, then retrieved his wallet from the plastic bag and examined its contents. “Whoa!” He pulled out a driver’s license with no photo and an address in Maryland, then found his FBI ID badge, also clearly dating from the 1970s. “In 1939, my clothes and wallet came with me, but this, this--”

“This is a nightmare, Mulder! We must have been captured and drugged.”

“You still don’t think any of this is real? If it’s not real, how can we both be here?”

That stumped her. She hadn’t considered that. When she woke up to nurses and doctors calling her “Mrs. Mulder” and talking about an accident and being in the hospital with her husband, her first thought was to find Mulder. “Shared delusional disorder,” she posited. “It has to be. You don’t seriously think we’ve traveled back in time?”

“Folie à deux? That again?” Mulder winced. He was sore, though clearly, he wasn’t anywhere near as injured as he would have imagined post his car hitting a deer, and Scully didn’t appear worse for the wear, either, other than her 1970s outfit. “Nixon announced his resignation on the night of August 8, 1974. Are we still near Philadelphia? None of the other cases involved moving through space, just time.”

Scully gaped at him. “Mulder, we did not go back in time! We’ve been kidnapped and drugged--”

At that moment, the curtain opened, and the nurse appeared again, a tall, dark-haired, middle-aged man in business dress behind her. “Looks like you’re feeling better, Mr. Mulder. Your boss is here for you. We contacted the local FBI office when you were brought in.”

The man stepped forward and extended his hand. He wasn’t just tall; he was a large person, built like a linebacker. “Hell of a way to meet, Agent Mulder,” he said with a pronounced Philadelphia accent. “John Ellison, Special Agent in Charge of the Philadelphia field office. We’ve spoken on the phone.” He turned to Scully. “And this must be Dr. Mulder. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Wait a minute. You’re a doctor?” the nurse said, looking mortified. “I apologize, Dr. Mulder. Your identification only had your name on it, not your credentials.”

“That’s okay,” Scully told the young nurse. “It was an honest mistake.”

“Agent Mulder and his wife transferred up here from Washington to help us expand our capabilities,” John explained. “He’s going to be heading up the Behavioral Science Unit, and Dr. Mulder is our new forensic pathologist.” He looked at Mulder, then Scully, then back to Mulder again. “It’s gonna be weird having two people named Mulder in the office.”

“You can always call me Dr. Scully,” Scully said dryly.

“To head off any confusion,” Mulder quickly added. “That’s my wife’s maiden name.”

John shrugged. “Lot of married women wanting to keep their names these days. I don’t get it, but hell, it’s none of my business. It’d make things easier around the office.” Scully started to say something, then bit her tongue. “Well, Philadelphia may not be Washington, but we’re proud of the work we do up here. With a profiler and a forensic pathologist, we won’t need to depend on support in Washington so much. I’m really happy you agreed to the transfer.” He looked back at the nurse. “Are they ready to be discharged?”

“I think so. Let me just go check with Dr. Collins.” She disappeared behind the privacy curtain again.

Discharged. To where? Mulder thought. Apparently, they’d just arrived in the city. Were they staying in a hotel?

“My sister let the movers in your apartment to unload your stuff, and her daughter is taking care of your cat. She’ll want you to come to get it before Lori decides to keep it,” John said with a laugh. “As I told you, it’s only a one-bedroom, but it’s roomy and clean, and it’s yours to rent until you can find a house. You’ll have to find another car. Police said yours needs to be junked. The Bureau can foot you a loaner in the meantime. I’ll drive you to your new place.”

Well, that answers that.

John opened the curtain. A crowd had gathered around the TV at the nurses’ station, pointing at the TV, nodding, and giving each other high-fives. John shook his head, laughed, and pointed at the somber-looking newscasters on the screen. “About time, huh? Reporters are talking about the bastard like he died. He’s not dead, but his presidency sure as hell is. Let me go find that nurse.” He closed the curtain and disappeared.

Mulder started putting on his shoes. This was weird as hell, but it was a much warmer reception than he’d received in 1939. They had that going for them.

“Mulder!” With John gone, Scully was now visibly upset. “We can’t go with him! We need to figure out how to get out of here!”

“Then where should we go, Scully?” He finished tying one shoelace and looked up at her. “If you’re right, and none of this is real, then John’s not real, and there’s nothing he can do to hurt us, anyway. If I’m right, then we still need to go with him, because he’s going to take us home, where we can talk in private and figure out our next move.”

Scully sat down in one of the visitors’ chairs and put her head in her hands. “This is not happening. None of this is real.”

Mulder finished tying his shoes and kneeled in front of her. “Hey. Look at me.” He took her hands and kissed them. Her eyes were wet, but she hadn’t let any tears fall. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure it out. It’ll be just like old times. And I do mean old times.”

Scully huffed. Mulder’s gift of dark humor was eternal. He was right, she knew, but a fear insisted on nicking the back of her mind, a fear that if they accepted this reality, they’d never be able to break through and get back to their real one.

_Dadak Residence, Society Hill, Philadelphia_

Thanks to John’s affability and talkativeness, the ride from the hospital into the city was a fruitful fact-finding mission.

As John had mentioned in the hospital, 1974 Mulder’s transfer to Philadelphia was a promotion. He was now an ASAC, heading up the office’s brand-new Behavioral Sciences Unit. Technically, Scully’s position had not changed. Because the Bureau didn’t allow women to become special agents until Hoover’s death in 1972, she’d been a forensic pathologist in Washington, and she remained one in Philadelphia, but since she was the only one stationed in the city, she was essentially heading up a department, without the title.

The apartment in which they were going to live was on the first floor of a multi-story row house in a historic section of the city that was rapidly undergoing gentrification. John’s sister, Mary Dadak, had lived in the home since the 1940s, first renting the apartment and then purchasing the entire house from her landlord and graduating to life on the house’s upper floors.

Mary had known a lot of grief. Her husband had died several years before, on the heels of her mother, and her son had died in Korea. Her daughter, Lori, was in her late 20s and operated a beauty salon out of the house. She had an on-again, off-again relationship with a young man whom Mary was pestering her to settle down with.

A WWII veteran, John was divorced and lived in the suburbs near his and Mary’s other brother and the brother’s wife. He’d joined the Bureau after the war and climbed the ranks, finally taking charge of the Philadelphia office a few years before. Mulder racked his mind for any memory of this man, but his knowledge of Bureau history was primarily limited to Washington. All he remembered about the Philadelphia Bureau was that the first female agent had been stationed there in the 1920s before Hoover had closed the door to women.

As Mulder chatted with John, trying to draw as much information out of him as possible, Scully largely sat silent, still not convinced of the reality of their situation. Certainly, everything looked, sounded, and even smelled so real that Scully was transported back to the memories of her childhood. The roads were populated by enormous, gas-guzzling cars, and fuel stations advertised leaded and unleaded gasoline, with prices hovering around 50 cents. People were wearing some of the most hideous outfits she’d seen in decades. Cigarette ads were ubiquitous, and everyone smoked. The nurses and doctors were smoking in the hospital. The people Scully saw in other cars and walking in the streets were smoking. Thankfully, John had abstained from smoking in the car when he’d offered cigarettes to Mulder and Scully, and they’d told him they didn’t smoke.

“You’re better off,” he’d said. “My brother quit last year, and he’s on my ass.”

A stop sign near their new home had been defaced to read STOP NIXON NOW.

“Funny story about that,” John told them. He seemed to have a funny story about everything. “My brother’s granddaughter, my little niece, she’s learning to read. She came to visit and saw that sign. She got it in her head, and now, she won’t stop saying it. This five-year-old is in stores yelling, ‘Stop Nixon now!’ I think she thinks it’s funny that the adults are all staring at her.”

Mulder found this hilarious. Scully smiled so she wouldn’t appear rude, then wondered why she worried about appearing rude to a figment of her imagination.

This wasn’t happening. None of this was happening.

The trio was greeted at the Dadak home by a woman about John’s age, shorter than him but not petite, and her daughter, who looked like she’d stepped out of a 1970s fashion catalog. Lori Dadak was a stunningly beautiful blonde with a warm smile. She was holding a tabby cat, which belonged to 1974 Mulder and Scully, and a chihuahua scampered at her feet, yipping and looking jealous of the cat.

“Poor thing,” Mary said, pointing to the cat. She had the same accent as John. “Cleo’s been driving him crazy all day.”

“Oh Ma, they just need to get to know each other,” Lori chided her. She reluctantly handed the cat to Scully, who realized she didn’t even know what it was named. Pretending to scratch around its neck, she looked for a collar and found a name tag that read “Walter.”

Scully laughed, despite herself. Lori looked confused. “Is everything okay, Dr. Mulder?”

“Dr. Scully, but you can call me Dana,” Scully corrected her. “No, I just … it’s been a long day, and I was just thinking that Walter here probably drove your dog crazy more than the other way around. He can get into moods.”

Walter meowed loudly. Mulder stifled a laugh. Oh, this was going to be good.

Mary showed them to their apartment, at the bottom of a frighteningly narrow and steep staircase that led up to the main house. As John had mentioned, it was small, but not as small as Mulder thought it was. The building was so narrow that it was deceptive. The apartment opened into a living area, then every other room went straight back, kitchen, a narrow hall with a bathroom, and finally the bedroom. The layout reminded Mulder of the shotgun houses in New Orleans. It was filled with furniture and boxes that were labeled in Mulder and Scully’s handwriting.

“You must be starving, and everything’s closed, so I left you some sandwiches in the refrigerator,” Mary told them, “and Lori fed your cat.”

“He’s so sweet, mom.”

“We’re not getting a cat, Lori. You already have a dog.”

Lori sighed. Mary suggested that they leave Mulder and Scully to settle in for the evening. John said he would be over in the morning.

Mulder made a beeline for the fridge and Mary’s sandwiches, which turned out to be quite generous. She’d also left napkins, paper plates, a bag of potato chips, and some soda. They were being treated more like family than tenants. He pulled up a chair at an ugly Formica table in the kitchen and started eating.

Scully put Walter down, and the cat jumped into the front window. Finally, they were alone. In Philadelphia. In … 1974?

“How can you possibly eat right now?”

Mulder shrugged and swallowed. “I’m hungry. Aren’t you?”

“None of this is real, Mulder. It can’t be.”

He pushed a sandwich towards her. “Taste that, and tell me it’s not real.”

Scully was curious. She took a bite. Certainly, it did taste like a ham-and-cheese sandwich with lettuce, tomato, and pickle. Did she ever taste food in her dreams before? Did she ever feel her hunger being sated in her dreams?

“All right, Mulder. I’ll play devil’s advocate. If this isn’t a dream, then what is it? Where are we? You and I weren’t adults working for the FBI in 1974. We were kids. I was 10 years old, and you were about to turn 13.”

“That’s why I’m not totally convinced this is time travel. I think we might have traveled into an alternate universe, one that’s a few decades behind our own. Years are a human construct. Maybe human society, or the entire planet, evolved just a bit more slowly in this universe, putting this world 39 years behind ours. Thirty-nine years seems like a long time to us, but in geological time, it’s a fraction of a millisecond. Maybe it was as simple as man inventing the wheel 39 years later.” Mulder pointed to the boxes. “I think we need to look at what’s in those boxes. Some of them must contain photographs and personal documents that will tell us more about who we are here.”

Scully was exasperated. Mulder seemed to be treating this as if they were on an adventure holiday. “I don’t care who we are here, Mulder. I care about getting home.”

“We were sent here for a reason, Scully. I’m convinced of that.” Mulder finished his sandwich and opened the potato chips. “If we can find out what that is, we can find our way home. I’m convinced of that, too.” He crunched on a chip.

*********

The boxes weren’t the treasure trove that Mulder had hoped, containing mostly clothing and household items. He practically squealed with glee when he came upon a 1970s stereo system and a few boxes of records. He hurriedly set the stereo up in the living room.

“I thought you were eager to find out who we are here, Mulder,” Scully said as she looked through a box of vintage women’s clothing. At least some of them weren’t as ugly as the dress she’d woken up in.

“What kind of music we listen to here is a fundamental part of who we are here,” he chided her. “Seventies fashion was hideous, but the music was great, so long as you steered clear of disco, and I don’t see two Depression Era kids listening to disco.”

“We’re not Depression Era kids.”

“We are right now. Here we go!” He came upon a box of old 78 rpm Blues recordings mixed in with some 1950s and 60s LPs. “Well, this is a good start, but we’re going to have to add some more modern music to this library.”

Scully rolled her eyes. Why was he talking about buying records? “Don’t play those too loud. It’s nearly midnight, and we’re not out in the country.”

“I’ll keep the volume low, MOM,” Mulder laughed.

As the sound of Lead Belly filled the living room, Scully gathered some toiletries and headed for the bathroom. They were the sorts of products she remembered her mother having around when she was a child, most of it in glass bottles, shampoo in a tube. Dear God, was that Dippity Doo?

Scully carefully examined herself in the mirror as she brushed her teeth. In the 1970s, 40-something women looked old, much older than they did in 2016. She’d always chalked it up better medicine and nutrition combined with an overall less physically demanding lifestyle, but now, she wondered if a lot of it had to do with the fashion. Her face and body looked the same, but her clothing and hair made her look 20 years older. If they were to be stuck here for a while, she at least wanted to look like herself.

She was putting the cap back on the toothpaste when she heard a man’s voice. “Don’t give up on him, Dana.”

Thank god the toothpaste wasn’t in a glass container, because she dropped it in the sink.

She heard the voice again. “He needs you, Dana. Don’t give up.” She couldn’t place what direction it was coming from. It was like it appeared out of thin air.

“Mulder?” He didn’t respond. Scully gathered herself and went back to the living room. Mulder was sitting on the floor, unboxing records. Walter was watching him intently. “Mulder? Did you call me?”

“Hmmm?” He looked up from the records. He’d found some Elvis titles. “No, I’ve been out here. Is something wrong?”

“I thought I heard someone say something.”

Mulder got up, and he and Scully carefully looked through the house together, the cat following them. Mulder had found Walter to be an affectionate, people-centered little guy; no wonder Mary’s daughter liked him so much. There was no one else in the unit but them and the cat. “Maybe you heard someone on the street outside, or a TV from upstairs or next door, or just the stereo.”

“Yeah, that has to be it,” Scully said, but she also remembered what she’d read in the Sam Tyler files, about hearing strange voices. If she was in a coma, why would someone be telling her not to give up on someone else? Who was “him”? “I think I should lie down. It’s late.” She remembered seeing a bed set up, and she’d found a box of pillows and bedding.

Mulder nodded. “I’ll take the couch.”

“No!” She said it more forcefully than she thought she would.

“Scully, you don’t have to--”

“No, no. I want you there.”

“Are you sure?” Mulder hadn’t slept next to her in six months, and he didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable.

Scully was firm. “Whatever’s happened to us, you’re the only thing here that’s familiar.”

**************************

Mulder waited until she’d fallen asleep to come to bed. He stripped down to his boxers as he gazed at her sleeping form, clad in a men’s undershirt. Back home, he hadn’t slept in their bed since the day she’d left.

He carefully crawled under the sheet next to her. She stirred, and he cringed, but she didn’t wake. Instead, she moved closer to him in her sleep, backing up into him. He put his arms around her, his little spoon who’d always fit so well.

Where did it all go wrong?

Asshole. You know where it all went wrong, he silently told himself. You assumed that she’d always be there, no matter what kind of stupid shit you did. You took her presence for granted. You spent more time on the internet than you did with your wife. You ignored her, and she went away.

Was this his second chance? If it was, what the hell kind of a second chance was this?

_August 9, 1974_

Scully awoke, thinking that she’d just had the strangest dream, about working on the X-Files again with Mulder. They’d been sent back in time to a bizarre place where everyone expected them to be there like they’d stepped into an alternate life without having missed a beat.

Then, she noticed the cat on her chest, and she remembered. She remembered stirring in the night, and Mulder embracing her -- or did he? Was that a dream within this dream? She looked over at the other side of the bed. It had clearly been slept in.

“Mulder?” No answer. Where could he have possibly gone?

Walter got louder. He must want food.

Scully sat up in bed. The pajamas her alter ego owned were absolutely horrid, so she’d slept in one of Mulder’s undershirts. His alter ego’s undershirts? This was getting confusing.

Walter grew more insistent. Scully climbed out of bed and made her way to the kitchen. There was food for the cat, but nothing for them. They didn’t even have coffee. She frowned and fed the cat, patting him as he ate.

The front door opened, and Mulder came in, already dressed for the day, a newspaper bearing the headline NIXON RESIGNS in his hand. “Where were you, Mulder?”

He approached her, gave her a quick hug, and kissed the top of her head. “I stepped outside to get the paper. Get dressed and come upstairs. John’s here, and Mary has coffee and food for us.” He went back out the door.

She went through her alter ego’s clothing, selected what she considered the least matronly outfit, and attempted to style her hair in a manner that wouldn’t make her look like an old lady. When she got herself looking presentable enough, she headed out of the apartment and up those incredibly steep, narrow stairs into the main house.

Like their apartment, Mary’s house opened into a living area, complete with a fireplace. Scully noticed a photograph of a young man in an Army uniform on the mantle, and she knew without asking that he was the son she’d lost in Korea. Scully felt an affinity with the older woman; she knew what it was to lose a son, to lose a child, period.

There were more photos, of Mary with a man who looked like an older version of her lost son, of a much younger Lori with the son, of a much younger John in a WWII-era Army uniform, of the whole family together with people Scully didn’t recognize, probably other family members, celebrating Christmas in the downstairs apartment kitchen.

She and Mulder hadn’t found any family photographs or pictures of children in their alter egos’ belongings, and they’d surmised that they didn’t have any children in this world. That would have been unusual, Scully thought. At this time, all married couples had children unless they had fertility problems. Had she been abducted here, too? She reached around to feel for a tiny bump in the back of her neck. There was nothing there.

Mulder was at the kitchen table, eating breakfast and talking to John about Watergate. Lori was making notes in an appointment book, and her mother was cooking up more eggs, bacon, and toast. Mulder seemed to be leaning into this world, while Scully felt lost in it. She was, however, drawn to the smell of fresh coffee.

“Come get yourself a cup of coffee and something to eat,” Mary called to her. “You must be starving.”

Scully got a cup of coffee and a banana off the counter. Mary raised her eyebrow. “You should eat more than that before going to work.”

“Leave her alone, Ma. She’s not one of your projects,” Lori chided, looking up from her appointment book.

“You need to eat more, too. You’re getting too skinny. Michael wants a woman with meat on her bones!”

Lori rolled her eyes. “Ma will feed you until you weigh 350 pounds if you let her.”

Scully noticed a dryer chair and other salon equipment in the room just past the kitchen, and she remembered that Lori was a hairstylist. “Lori, do you have any openings this weekend?”

The younger woman looked surprised. “I can fit you in first thing tomorrow if you want. What would you like done?”

“I want to change up my hair so that it doesn’t make me look -- I mean, I want a more modern style.”

Lori smirked. She knew what Scully was getting at; she wanted to ditch the old-lady cut. “Yeah, I can help you with that. Come on up at 9 tomorrow.” She penciled in the appointment in her notebook, then got out of her chair. “I have to get things ready for my appointments today.”

“We should get going, too,” John said, downing the rest of his coffee. Scully wondered if he always ate breakfast at his sister’s home. She recalled him saying he was divorced.

“Give her time to eat some breakfast, John,” Mary shot back. “You’re the boss. You can be 15 minutes late.”

Scully enjoyed watching the family’s interactions. It reminded her of her household, while she was growing up. Her mother would like Mary. Would she ever see her mother again?

Mulder noticed the flash of pain that went across her face. He reached across the table and patted her hand reassuringly. He was torn between his concern for his wife and his intrigue with this world. When he’d read the Sam Tyler interviews, he’d been a bit envious, but he also knew he wouldn’t have wanted to be stranded without Scully. The last six months of his life had been hell. If it took being transported to a weird 1970s universe for him to have his wife at his side again, then it was worth it to him.

_FBI Field Office, Philadelphia_

Scully found out why it had been so easy for John to drop into his sister’s home for breakfast; the FBI field office was so close to Mary’s house, they could have walked. She’d been to the Philadelphia office before, and while many things had changed, she was able to recognize the exterior of the building from her own time.

The inside was a different story.

Instead of computers, there were typewriters everywhere, and the clack-clack-clack of keys was a constant drone in the background. Everyone smoked, at their desks, no less. Nearly all of the agents in the bullpen were men, although Scully spotted one woman. The female agent caught her eye and smiled before going right back to her work. She’d have to work twice as hard as the men to be considered half as good, Scully thought. That had been the case even in 1993; she couldn’t imagine what it must have been like nineteen years prior.

Mulder would be working out of an office not far from John’s, and Scully’s domain was in the basement. Her laboratory was state-of-the-art for 1974. It was bizarre seeing all of the “vintage” autopsy equipment looking shiny and brand-new. More bizarre was that Scully felt a certain comfort being here. Why? Was it because people who are dreaming don’t know they’re dreaming?

“We’re going to be able to get so much more done with these capabilities on-site,” John said, looking around the laboratory with pride. “We’ve got a lot for both of you to do.”

“I have something for them right now, sir,” said a female voice. The agent Scully had noticed in the bullpen earlier entered the room, carrying a file. She was young, in her twenties, taller than average, with straight, shoulder-length black hair, and wearing a smart navy blue dress.

“Agent Bolt,” John said, taking the file from her. “This is Agent Fox Mulder and Dr. Dana Scully. What’ve you got for us?”

“It’s great to finally meet both of you. I’ve heard so much about you,” Agent Bolt said, shaking hands with Mulder and Scully. She turned back to John. “Another employee of Ambler Pharmaceuticals is dead. This is the third in two weeks, all three killed with letter openers stuck through their ears.”

Mulder and Scully exchanged a surreptitious look at hearing “Ambler Pharmaceuticals.”

“The first two victims were salespeople. The wife of one of the vics said she thought he was involved in recruiting participants for some sort of unauthorized clinical trial,” Bolt explained. “This one is Dr. Thomas Foy, a research scientist. His title at the company was ‘Head of Special Projects.’ His wife had been visiting her mother out of state and found him dead when she returned home. He had my card in his pocket."

“You interviewed this guy, right?” John asked.

Bolt nodded. “Yes, and he denied even knowing the other two victims, but something just didn’t seem right about him. I felt his answers were evasive.”

“Agent Bolt, I want you and Agent Edgar to take Agent Mulder down to the scene. Since the remains are still on-site, Dr. Scully should go, too.” John turned to Mulder and Scully. “Looks like you’re going to be starting with a bang.”

He has no idea, Mulder thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That stop sign was in my suburban neighborhood, not the city. I was the little girl screaming "STOP NIXON NOW!"


	3. The Children in the Box

_Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day_

_Fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way_

_Kicking around on a piece of ground in your hometown_

_Waiting for someone or something to show you the way_

~~ Pink Floyd, “Time”

####  _Foy Residence, West Chester, PA_

“No TV cameras,” Scully said to Mulder as the agents exited the car and followed Agents Bolt and Edgar past the yellow crime-scene tape and into the Foy’s well-kept home. 

“There were no 24-hour news channels inundating people with information everywhere they turned,” Mulder noted. “There were only three major networks, and all of their newsrooms are preoccupied with Watergate right now.”

Scully nodded. The local police were interviewing the sobbing widow in the living room. An officer approached, and Agent Edgar flashed his badge. “FBI. I’m agent Mark Edgar, and these are agents Nicole Bolt and Fox Mulder, and Dr. Scully, our forensic pathologist.”

The officer raised his eyebrow. “Two women, huh? Is that part of that Affirmative Action stuff?”

“The victim had my card in his pocket,” Bolt said, looking at the officer’s nameplate, “Officer Johnson. This death may be connected to two other cases we’re investigating. Please direct us to the body so that we can begin our work.” She kept a poker face the entire time, which seemed to unnerve Johnson.

“Wife found him floating in the pool. Someone hated this guy. They stuck a letter opener right into his ear. Body’s right back that way, through the kitchen.”

“It’s just easier to have Mark make the introductions, especially when we’re dealing with these local PDs out in the suburbs,” Bolt said to Scully as they headed to the scene. “You know how it is.”

Unfortunately, Scully did know how it was, even though her time with the Bureau wouldn’t start for nearly another twenty years.

The police had already removed the body from the pool and placed it in a body bag, which irked Scully. At least they hadn’t pulled out the murder weapon. She would have rather examined the scene before moving the body, but she’d have to make do with what she had. She snapped on a pair of gloves and kneeled to give the body a cursory examination.

“Bottle of whiskey and a glass over on that table,” Mulder noted, “And blood trailing from there to the pool. What do you make of this, Scully?”

“From the decomp rate, I don’t think he was in the water for any longer than 12 hours. I’ll know more when we get him back to the lab.”

“I’m going to go take a look around the house,” Mulder said. “Agent Edgar, why don’t you come with me, and Agent Bolt and Agent Scully can interview the widow.”

Edgar looked confused. “Don’t you mean Dr. Scully, Agent Mulder? And she interviews witnesses? I thought she just handled the autopsies.”

“Sorry, Freudian slip,” Mulder said, trying to brush it off as a joke. “Dr. Scully has been my right hand for so long that I think of her as an agent. She often interviews witnesses because not all findings are revealed inside a lab. I was thinking that the widow might be more open talking to two women.”

That explanation seemed to satisfy Edgar and Bolt. 

*******************

“Tom didn’t really talk about his work. I just know that he worked with experimental drugs for genetic diseases,” Mrs. Foy said through tears. Scully handed her a tissue box. “He said it was all highly confidential, that he wasn’t allowed to divulge details to anyone.”

“Did you notice any recent changes in his habits lately, Mrs. Foy?” Bolt asked. “Was he staying at work later, or leaving earlier? Getting any strange phone calls at the house?”

“He always kept strange hours. That’s why he didn’t come with me to visit my mother. He said that one of his research projects was at a very critical juncture, and he couldn’t get away.”

Agent Edgar came down the stairs. “Dr. Scully? Agent Bolt? Agent Mulder wants you to come look at something.”

Scully and Bolt headed upstairs to Dr. Foy’s office, where Mulder had found a small hidden compartment in one of the floorboards. Inside was a shoebox filled with black-and-white photographs of children clad only in underwear, none of whom were older than about twelve and most of whom had visible deformities. On the back of each photo was a date and what appeared to be a file number.

“What are we thinking here, kiddie porn?” Edgar asked.

Scully shook her head. “No. These were taken in some sort of clinical setting, like a hospital or a research lab, to document these children’s medical conditions. But the victim was a drug researcher. Why would he even have photographs like this?”

“And why keep them in a secret compartment in his home office?” Mulder added. 

“Why did the first victim’s wife say he was recruiting participants for clinical trials?” Bolt asked. “The guy was a drug salesman. They just sell medications; they don’t have anything to do with the research side of the business.”

“Apparently, employees at Ambler Pharmaceuticals wear many hats,” Mulder said. “We need to tear this place apart. Let’s see if Dr. Foy had any other secret compartments.”

####  _FBI Field Office, Philadelphia_

Even though her lab was thirty-nine years out of date, Scully felt back in her element. During her work on the X-Files, she’d performed many autopsies under less-than-ideal circumstances. She wasn’t about to let prehistoric technology get in her way. Things were just going to take longer.

She adjusted the light over the victim and pressed the record button on the Dictaphone. It had been a long time since she’d used one that wasn’t digital. “This is Dr. Dana Scully commencing postmortem examination of Thomas Foy, aged fifty-four. I will now begin with the external examination.” She lifted one of the victim’s hands. “Subject’s hands show stains indicative of heavy tobacco use.” _Like everyone else during this decade. The only one I haven’t seen smoking is the cat._ “I will now remove the apparent murder weapon.”

Scully was finishing up when Mulder came down the stairs.

“What’ve you got for me, Scully?”

“Cause of death was the letter opener lodged in his cranium,” she said as she removed her PPE and tossed the disposables into a biowaste container. “I don’t see any defensive wounds, so the perpetrator must have gotten the drop on him. He might have drunk too much of that whiskey and fallen asleep in his chair. I’m going to need to run a tox screen. Those existed by now, didn’t they?”

“It’s 1974, Scully, not 1874.”

“What did you and those two agents find?”

“We cataloged all of the photographs we found in Foy’s office. They go back nearly twenty years, and the earliest one is a real doozy.” Mulder showed her a photograph of a blond boy, about five years old, clad in a medical gown and sitting on an examination table. Although he had surgical scars, he was one of the few children who didn’t have any visible deformities. “You’re looking at the only known photograph of the Boy in the Box taken in life.”

“The Boy in the Box?” It sounded familiar to Scully, but she couldn’t place it.

“One of the most famous John Doe cases not only in Philadelphia history but in modern American history. An unidentified murder victim was found in a rural area near Philadelphia in 1957. His body had been placed inside a bassinet box.”

“Now I remember. We studied that case at Quantico. The scars on his body indicated that he’d undergone multiple medical procedures. Didn’t anyone ever identify him?”

Mulder shook his head. “No. There were dozens of leads, but none of them ever went anywhere. In 2013, he’ll still be buried under a gravestone with no name on it.”

“Someone threw that precious little boy away like he was trash.” Scully felt herself being overcome by emotion. “We didn’t throw William away like he was trash, did we, Mulder?”

“What? Where’s this coming from?” Mulder put the photo down, walked over to her, and put his arm around her shoulder. “How could you even think something like that?”

“Do you ever think about William?”

“Only every goddamn day of my life.” He pulled her fully into a hug.

“He'd be twelve years old now, and we've missed every single year of his life. Sometimes, I hate myself that I didn't have the courage to stand by him.”

“Scully, that’s completely different than the Boy in the Box. Someone murdered that boy, maybe even someone he trusted to keep him safe, and they tried to cover it up by getting rid of the body. You gave William up for adoption because it was the only way to protect him. Everything you did, you did it because you loved him and wanted to keep him safe.”

Mulder held her as she cried softly, for William, for the Boy in the Box, for the other children whose pictures they’d found, the Children in the Box. For herself and Mulder, stranded in 1974 Philadelphia. For their marriage, on the rocks back in 2013. For her mother, who was probably sick with worry and wondering what had happened to them.

“I’m sorry,” she said after composing herself. “We’re at work. Anyone could walk in here.”

“It’s okay, Scully.” Mulder used his fingers to wipe away the tears beneath her eyes. “I’m an ASAC now, the head of a unit. That comes with certain privileges.”

Scully couldn’t help but chuckle. “If only Skinner could see you now.”

Mulder grinned. “He’d shit.”

“So, what are the next steps?”

“Edgar and Bolt are headed back to Ambler Pharmaceuticals to question Foy’s assistant, and anyone else who worked on ‘Special Projects’ while I put together a profile of the perpetrator. As John reminded me, I need to let my agents do the footwork, like Skinner has us do the footwork. I don’t know how to feel about that, especially since this is clearly an X-File.”

“What do you mean, clearly? There’s no evidence that these murders were committed by anything other than human hands.”

“Remember when I told you years ago that some cases give off a certain paranormal bouquet?”

“I think that might just be all the cigarette smoke in the air,” Scully said, wrinkling her nose. “I’d forgotten how bad the seventies smelled.”

“There’s something rotten going on at Ambler Pharmaceuticals, and I can’t help but wonder if it might have something to do with the Project. We know they were going genetic experiments as far back as the 1950s.” Mulder picked up the photo of the Boy in the Box. “Maybe this is why we were sent here, not only to this time but this place. Maybe solving this case is our key to getting back home.”

The phone rang, and Scully picked it up. “Scully.” She paused. “Yes, SAC Ellison, he’s here. Yes, I’ll tell him.” She hung up. “John said that Philadelphia PD just dropped off the Boy in the Box files, but that Washington can’t get the other files you asked for up here until Monday.” She raised an eyebrow. “Mulder, what files are those?”

Mulder grinned. “I asked him to have all the X-Files boxed up and sent up here. Told you that ASACs get certain privileges. Come upstairs with me. The boy’s autopsy report is in those files.”

*****************

John was waiting for them in Mulder’s office, which was filled with about 20 file boxes. “You really think this kid has something to do with the Foy murder?” he asked.

“I do,” Mulder said. He opened one of the boxes and retrieved the original flyer that the Philadelphia PD had made in their attempts to identify the Boy in the Box. They’d dressed the corpse and taken photos of him in life-like poses. Mulder put the photo from Foy’s office next to the flyer. The only noticeable difference was that the boy from Foy’s shoebox had much longer hair, close to shoulder-length.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” John said. He shook his head. “That case haunted me, and the Bureau didn’t even work on it. It haunted the whole goddamn city. The gas company put a copy of that flyer in everybody’s bill, hoping somebody would recognize this kid.” He looked back up at Mulder. “What does this have to do with those ‘X-Files’ you asked for?”

Mulder shrugged. “Maybe nothing, but I want to have them handy since I can’t just pull them up on the com--” He caught himself. “I mean, since I can’t just walk over to a file cabinet and get them anymore.”

“Whatever you think you need to solve this, Agent Mulder. For weeks after they found him, I saw that kid’s face in my dreams.”


	4. The Missing Piece

_ Breathe, breathe in the air. _

_ Don't be afraid to care. _

_ Leave but don't leave me. _

_ Look around and choose your own ground. _

~~ Pink Floyd, “Breathe”

After reading the Boy in the Box’s autopsy report, Scully was certain she’d see the boy’s face in her dreams for some time. The child had gone through hell in his short time on Earth. His small, emaciated body displayed evidence of years of physical abuse, along with multiple medical procedures.

Why was his photo in Dr. Foy’s box of horrors? Who were the other children? Without access to modern computers, databases, and facial recognition technology, identifying them was going to be a long, slow, and possibly fruitless slog, since Foy’s staff at Ambler Pharmaceuticals hadn’t been forthcoming when Bolt and Edgar arrived to question them. They’d claimed ignorance of any unauthorized human clinical trials, especially any involving children.

The FBI was going to have to convince a federal judge to grant a warrant to search Ambler Pharmaceuticals’ labs, but right now, the Bureau didn’t have enough evidence to tie Foy’s photo collection to his employer.

Then, there was the matter of who was murdering everyone involved in Foy’s shenanigans, and who was next on their hit list. Bolt said that Foy’s assistant, and the rest of the staff, appeared unnerved, and not just because their boss had been killed. Mulder’s profile suggested that the killer was someone who had been personally harmed by Foy’s experiments, either a former patient, now grown-up, parent, or guardian. 

He was leaning towards the former.

Scully had told Bolt to investigate Dr. Foy’s background. They needed to find out who Foy had been prior to his work for Ambler Pharmaceuticals. They also needed to rule out the possibility that his employer hadn’t been involved, and that he’d been engaging in extracurricular activities. Like Mulder, she felt strange giving someone else instructions. She was accustomed to performing investigations herself. She felt like she and Mulder needed to be doing something more than hanging around the field office, examining files, and writing up reports.

One positive aspect was that she and Mulder got to leave the office at a decent hour. Driving them home, John was kind enough to swing by a grocery store so that Mulder and Scully could stock up on food. Grocery shopping was yet another foreign experience. Seventies grocery stores were much smaller than the 21st-century supermarkets that Mulder and Scully were used to and many familiar brands didn’t yet exist. Scully wrote a check to pay the cashier, something she hadn’t done in years. Most of the other patrons were writing checks, too.

After eating a simple dinner and feeding Walter, they sipped beer and unpacked some more. There wasn’t much television to watch. The small set received only the three major networks, plus a PBS station and a couple of UHF channels. 

“I’m wired, Scully,” Mulder said as they played with the cat. “South Street is only a couple of blocks from here. Why don’t we go check it out?”

Scully picked up Walter for a cuddle. “Isn’t that for younger people?”

“It’s a public street. It’s not as if we’ll be turned back at the door.” Mulder turned on his puppy-dog eyes. “Come on, Scully! I want to see more of 1974 than the FBI office and a crime scene.”

Scully looked at the cat. He meowed at her. She shrugged and put him down. “Okay, but just for a little while.”

*****************

In 1974, South Street in Philadelphia was at the height of its renaissance, a funky tapestry of independent shops, tattoo parlors, art galleries, restaurants, performing arts venues, and bars and clubs that supported a thriving local music scene. It looked more like something one would see in Los Angeles, not a gritty, industrial East Coast city.

Scully quickly realized that her fears of sticking out like a sore thumb were unfounded because it was damn near impossible to stick out on this street. The U.S. punk culture was in its infancy and leather-clad young people with brightly colored hair and multiple piercings mingled with hipsters, hippies, and mainstream-looking singles and couples, straight and gay, on dates. A distinct note of marijuana cut through the ever-present smell of tobacco, completing the entire counterculture motif.

A passing car honked its horn as a young man screamed out the window, “FUCK NIXON!” The crowd hooted and cheered.

“This is amazing, Scully,” Mulder marveled. “I watched all of this on TV as a kid, but that was nothing like being here as an adult. We’re experiencing history as it happens.” 

He reached for her hand, and she took it and squeezed. They looked like any other couple on a night out. More importantly, she felt as though they were a couple on a night out, not chasing monsters or hunting down conspiracies, but just enjoying a night out as a couple. She hadn’t felt this way since their tropical vacation they took shortly after the Bannan case.

After walking a couple of blocks and turning an offer from a stranger to take a hit off a joint, Mulder pointed to a lively bar located between a psychic reader and a record store. It was called Dorothy’s, and music from a band playing seventies rock spilled out onto the street. 

“This place looks popular,” he said, leading her inside just as the band was launching to a Led Zeppelin cover.

_ Want to tell you about the girl I love _

_ My she looks so fine _

_ She's the only one that I been dreamin' of _

_ Maybe someday she will be all mine _

_ I want to tell her that I love her so _

_ I thrill with her every touch _

_ I need to tell her she's the only one I really love _

The scene inside Dorothy’s mirrored the street, with an incredibly diverse crowd drinking, smoking cigarettes, chatting, and dancing in a small area in front of the stage. Mulder and Scully made their way to the bar, where they were greeted by a heavily tattooed woman with jet-black hair who was pouring someone else’s drink even as she took their order. “What’ll you have?”

Mulder ordered two beers, and as soon as the bartender moved away to get them, he heard a familiar voice. “Fox? Dana?” 

He and Scully turned around to see Lori, who was there with a man whose photo Scully recalled seeing on Mary’s mantle.

“I wouldn’t have thought this was your scene, but cool!” Lori pointed to her date. “This is Michael. Michael, these are the FBI agents that are renting my mom’s apartment.”

The bartender returned with their beers, nodding at Lori. “Put it on my tab, Vicki,” Lori instructed her. “These are my mom’s tenants!”

“Oh wow! Nice to meet you,” Vicki said. She pointed at the crowd. “Listen, I’d love to talk, but it’s bananas here tonight!”

“Vicki owns this place with my Uncle Andy,” Lori explained. 

Mulder and Scully exchanged a look.  _ Is everyone in this city related?  _

“Let’s go upstairs!” Lori had to shout to be heard over the music and the din of the crowd.

She led them up a narrow, impossibly steep staircase -- apparently, this architectural feature was all the rage in Philadelphia -- and into a much smaller, less crowded area with its own bar. They could still hear the music, but the volume was muted enough not to impede conversation. The group sank into soft chairs around a small table.

“So, how are you liking things here so far?” Michael asked them. “I’ll bet it’s a big change from D.C.”

“You have no idea,” Scully told him, taking a swig of her beer.

“When you’re done with that, you should try the Long Island iced tea,” Lori said. “It’ll knock you on your ass.” 

She laughed heartily, and Michael pulled her in for a kiss. They were endlessly in love with each other, and Scully wondered why they weren’t married. People married younger in those days. These days? She was definitely going to take up Lori’s suggestion to try that drink.

*****************

Lori was right about the drink. Scully felt warm and relaxed. If this was a dream, would alcohol have any effect on her? Scully brushed that thought aside and leaned against Mulder, who put his arm around her shoulder. She leaned in closer, enjoying his feel, warmth, and scent. She was feeling the music, too. The band downstairs was quite good. They learned that Michael worked for the city and that he and Lori had been dating for about five years.

“One of these days,” he said, “she’ll agree to marry me.”

Lori laughed nervously. “You know I want to wait until I can afford to move my salon out of my mom’s house.” 

She was holding something back; the men were oblivious to it, but Scully could tell. When Mulder and Michael went to the bar to buy another round, Scully decided to ask. “So, what’s up with you and Michael? Why aren’t you married yet?”

Lori looked down at her near-empty glass, then checked that the men were still occupied at the bar. “I’m sick,” she confessed. “I have lupus, the same thing that killed my dad. My doctor said it doesn’t look good. Michael deserves to have a woman who can grow old with him.”

Scully felt guilty for forcing her to bring this up. “Lori, I’m so sorry--”

She held up her hand. “No, you didn’t know. Please don’t tell my mom. She doesn’t know, either. It’s just better that way. She lost my brother and my dad. I don’t want her to know she’s going to lose me.”

“Uh-oh, they’ve got their heads together, conspiring!” Michael laughed as he and Mulder returned with their drinks.

“Yeah, something like that,” Scully said, laughing to cover the sorrow she felt for her friend. She knew that nothing could be done for Lori in 1974. She’d have limited options even in 2013. Scully remembered how she’d felt when she had cancer when it looked as though she didn’t have many options. She remembered writing a journal but addressing it to Mulder, imploring him to go on with his life after she was gone. They weren’t even dating back then, but the subtext was there. Mulder didn’t do well on his own, then or now, and she’d known that she wanted him to love again. 

Mulder put his arm around her again, and she leaned in even closer than before. They’d had an opportunity that Lori and Michael would likely never have, the opportunity to grow older together.  _ But I pissed all over that opportunity. _ Scully looked up at her husband, the man she’d spent nearly half her life madly in love with, the man she’d committed her life to in front of a judge and her mother.

They weren’t kids anymore, but they were still young enough. Scully didn’t understand what was happening to them, but maybe she didn’t need to understand right now. She hadn’t fully understood when Mulder had come back from the dead, either, nor had she cared about the why. She was just glad that he was back. The why came in time, and it would come in time now.

In time. That’s rich. 

Scully burst into laughter, and Mulder looked over at her, surprised. “What’s gotten into you?”

“A couple of those Long Island ice teas,” Lori quipped.

“I’m just thinking we should live in the moment, Mulder,” Scully purred, squeezing his thigh under the table.

Mulder didn’t know what had spurred this, but he wasn’t going to complain about it. The band segued into a slow song, and he decided to test the waters. 

He stood up and held out his hand with her. “Care to dance with me, Scully?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” she said, taking his hand and following him downstairs. 

The staircase was an interesting experience after those drinks. Scully felt like she was floating.

Together, they glided onto the dance floor, and Mulder pulled her close again. “Why do you want to cut your hair?” he asked, kissing the top of her head.

“It reminds me of how my grandmother wore her hair in the 70s,” Scully explained. “I want to look like me, not like my grandmother.”

Mulder pulled back and gazed into her eyes. “I think you look beautiful.”

She chuckled. “You’re seeing me through a husband’s eyes.”

“Always. Whenever I look at you, I’ll always see the hot redhead who walked into my basement office twenty years ago.”

She turned around to look at him. “You mean nineteen years from now.”

“Ah, so you’re finally admitting that we went back in time.”

“I don’t know what I’m admitting to, Mulder. I’m not sure what any of this is, but I’m glad you’re here with me.”

Mulder tentatively leaned in for a kiss, and she responded to him immediately, deepening the kiss and parting her lips to grant his tongue entrance. They’d robbed themselves of each other’s taste and feel for too long, and things quickly got heated. By the time they came up for air, the band had moved onto a song with a faster tempo, but they hadn’t noticed, and nobody in the crowd was paying attention to them.

He pulled her into an embrace, pressing his hips against hers. She could feel his need, and her body craved for him to fill her. “Let’s get out of here,” he whispered in her ear.

***********************

They ran back to their apartment, the way they used to run back to each others’ apartments in the early days of their romantic relationship when everything was new and exciting, and their bodies perpetually burned for each other. This felt new and exciting too, in some undefinable way. They were people out of time, aged but ageless, dropped into a strange world they didn't understand but that seemed to understand them, that nudged them towards the people and things that they needed here.

Most of all, they needed each other. Their need went much deeper than sex, but their physical needs were demanding top billing right now. It had been six months since their separation, and two or three before that since they’d had sex. It was the longest celibate stretch they’d had since they’d started dating. They fell into their apartment, their lips locked, and kicked the door shut behind them. They couldn’t get their clothes off fast enough.

“I miss tasting you,” he whispered in her ear as he unhooked her bra. 

He nibbled on her neck as his hands worked her tits, his thumbs lightly brushing across her hard, ultra-sensitive nipples. She groaned and hurriedly unbuttoned his pants, then pushed his briefs down. She pulled her panties off, kicking them across the room, then dropped to her knees, grinning up at him. 

“I missed tasting you, too,” she said right before taking his cock into her mouth with a satisfied hum. She gently but firmly cupped his balls and worked them as she sucked him off.

“Oh GOD Scully,” he moaned, resting his hands on her head and closing his eyes. He knew that if he looked down at her, he’d immediately lose it; it never failed. As it was, he was gritting his teeth, and he was glad he had a few drinks in him. He wanted this to last. More quickly than he hoped, his pleasure grew so intense that he knew he couldn’t take it anymore. “Gonna cum,” he grunted as he gently pushed her away. 

She grinned at him again as she rose to her feet. “I’d have swallowed, you know,” she purred.

“Woman, you’re gonna kill me,” Mulder laughed. In one, swift motion, he scooped her off her feet, and she shrieked with delight. 

They locked lips again as he carried her into their bedroom, where he laid her down onto the bed, leaned over her, and slowly made his way down her body, licking and sucking all of her erogenous zones. He found that pleasuring his wife was like riding a bike. As soon as he hopped on again, he remembered how to drive her insane. 

Finally, he arrived between her legs and took a deep inhale. She was dripping wet, and her personal scent was intoxicating. He licked and nibbled her inner thighs, teasing her, before finally taking a taste of her sweet, soft, hot center. He moaned with satisfaction and drank of her essence like it was the nectar of the gods, grasping her ass cheeks so he could pull her closer to his face. 

Scully clawed the sheets and moved rhythmically against his face as her pleasure built, then arched her back and screamed his name as an orgasm tore through her with the force of a thousand suns. The next moment, he was leaning over her and holding her again, his cock pressing urgently against her belly. 

She needed to feel that cock inside her. She pushed against his chest, and they switched positions. She slowly sunk herself down on his cock, giving her body a moment to readjust to his generous size, sighing contentedly once she’d taken him in completely.

She started to ride him, slowly at first, and then more quickly. He reached up to play with her nipples, and she mewed her pleasure. When he could tell she was on the precipice, he reached one hand between them to stimulate her clit, and that sent her over. Once he felt her vaginal walls pulsating around him, he let himself go, spurting jets of hot white liquid into her again and again.

She collapsed atop him, her head against his chest, his heart thumping in her ear, both of them sweaty and panting. He put his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, too,” she whispered back, nuzzling his chest, then lifting her head up so that she could kiss him. 

She could smell and taste herself on him, intermingled with his own smell and taste, the way things should be. In this upside-down world of the past, this was the only thing that was as it should be.

************

After having Lori cut and style her hair into one of those side-swept bangs cuts that could be worn alone or paired with a scarf, Scully took the younger woman up on her offer to go clothes shopping while Mulder went to look for a car. Lori’s free-spirit personality and determination to make the most of every moment of her life reminded Scully of Melissa, and she found herself bonding with Lori despite their generational difference. Sometimes, lupus patients could live for many years, and Scully hoped that her younger friend would beat the odds.

The two women were ascending the front stoop, their arms laden with shopping bags when they heard the sound of a car horn and turned around. Scully’s jaw dropped, and Lori broke into a wide grin, as Mulder pulled up to the curb in a new Camaro. A red one, with black stripes.

“Oh. My. GOD!” Lori dropped her bags and made a beeline for the car, squealing. 

John got out of the passenger seat and shrugged at Scully, who was still standing on the front stoop and gaping. “Don’t blame me. I tried to convince him to get a nice Buick.”

Mulder got out of the driver’s side, still wearing his sunglasses, and strutted over to Scully, who still couldn’t believe what she was seeing. 

“Are you having a midlife crisis?” she hissed.

“You’re one to talk,” he said, eying her haircut and shopping bags. “You’re taking hair and fashion advice from a woman in her twenties. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. The first time I did 1974, I was the weird kid whose sister went missing. This time around, I’m an ASAC with a sports car and a hot wife. I’m living a life that teenage Mulder would have never dreamed possible.”

Scully huffed. John just kept shrugging. Lori tore herself away from the car to grab her shopping bags. “You people are the coolest tenants my mom’s ever had!” She went inside and yelled up the stairs, “MA! Check out Agent Mulder’s new car!”

“Come on, Scully,” Mulder said, throwing the keys upward and catching them in mid-air, “Let’s take this baby for a spin.”

“It is something else,” John said, encouraging her.

“All right. Just let me get these bags in the house,” Scully turned back around in the doorway and peered up from behind her sunglasses. “But I get to drive.”

***********************

Mulder carefully crept out of bed, careful not to wake his wife, even though she was sleeping like the dead, having been fucked into exhaustion. He grinned as he headed for the kitchen to get a drink of water. Scully loved the Camaro. They’d taken it on the interstate so they could really open it up, and the joy on her face was palpable.

Mulder knew that he and Scully were the same age as they were in 2013, but he felt ten years younger. He liked this new lifestyle, back with his wife and back at work, under a great boss, with no baggage. Forget about surpassing teenage Mulder’s wildest dreams; 2002 Mulder could have never conceived of this life.

After grabbing a glass from a cabinet and filling it with water, he turned around to lean back on the sink -- and dropped the glass on the floor, shattering it and sending water and shards of glass all over the small kitchen. Mulder grabbed a knife from the countertop and was just about to lunge at the man standing in front of him until he realized who it was. Sam Fucking Tyler, looking like he’d stepped right out of his file photo.

“JESUS CHRIST!” Mulder yelped, catching himself before he leaped with bare feet onto broken glass.

Sam laughed. “No, I’m afraid not.”

“What happened to you, Sam?” Mulder asked, putting the knife down. “What really happened?”

The other man shook his head. “This isn’t about me. It’s about you, innit?” He spoke with a British accent, the dialect regional to Manchester if Mulder recalled correctly. “You’re getting really comfortable here, Agent Mulder. Don’t get too comfortable.”

“Why? Are we about to get sent back? What happened to us?”

“Don’t get so caught up in this life that you lose sight of why you’re really here,” Sam snapped his fingers, and all the shards of glass rose from the floor. He held out his palm, and all the pieces gravitated towards each other like magnets, reforming into the glass. “To put things back together.”

Sam handed the glass back to Mulder, who noticed that it still had a rather large chip. “It’s missing a piece,” he told Sam.

“Now you’re starting to get it.” He gave Mulder a level look. “Don’t give up on him.”

Mulder shot upright in bed, panting, his heart pounding. He looked around the bedroom. No one was there except for Scully, still fast asleep, and Walter, who was sitting at Mulder’s feet, looking straight at him. 

_ Fucking cat always looks like he’s peering into my soul. _


End file.
